Shards
by Nithela
Summary: He can't use it anymore? Or...? Is there a solution for everything? A gain without sacrifice? No, I'm not talking about the Stone. HpFma xover. Rating may go up in later chapters.
1. Prologue: Revelation and realisation

**Nithela speaks: Oh my goodness. I'm here again. With a crossover? What has gotten into me? -shudder-. And _that_ crossover too? Eugh.**

**Well... err... You see. I got an idea for a plot, and I want to use it. It has NOTHING to do with the stone, I assure you. U just want to try this out, okay?**

**Disclaimer: -sigh- There are two great women in this world. They have created wonderful stories. Sadly, I'm not one of them. Hence, I don't own neither FMA nor Harry Potter.**

* * *

"You're kidding me, right?"

The old man with silvery hair and beard straightened his back a little and gave the one sitting at the opposite side of the table a stern look over the edge of his half-moon shaped glasses. He smiled knowingly; after all, he had seen many people react like this when he told them.

"I am afraid not, Mr. Elric," he said happily. "there's a world hidden from non-magical people and it seems like you are a part of it."

Edward was slouching in the comfortable armchair, with one leg hanging over one side and the other one outstretched under the table. His covered automail elbow leaned against one armrest, the hand supporting his tilted head. His whiskey colored eyes contemplated the odd figure in front of him, suspiciously. The warm light coming from the lit fire in his livingroom made shadows dance on his face, which had gained some lines over the years, and the blonde hair gathered in a ponytail almost seemed to shine, except for the greying temples.

"So," he began, lifting his head and letting the fake arm fall to rest on the chair with a soft thud. "you're telling me..."

"I believe we've been through this already." Dumbledore reminded him kindly. "About three times, in fact."

"Hm, yes, sorry." Edward mumbled. He adjusted his shoulders a little and froze, looking at himself. In a second, he had gone out of his pose and sat up straight, looking rather embarassed.

"I..."

But Dumbledore put a thin hand in the air to silence him, again with that smile on his lips.

"Doesn't matter, people tend to do strange things when they talk to me. I think it's their true nature shining through."

"Er..." Ed frowned a little at the man's words, but decided that it was best to let the subject drop. He was thirsting for more information and didn't want to ruin it all by asking about the wrong things.

Dumbledore looked at him with absolute calm written in his features.

"I believe you want to ask me some questions?"

Edward snorted and started gliding down in his seat again, shaking his head and looking away. His eyes were widened and he looked like a man that didn't know where to go or what to believe in anymore.

"Questions..." he mumbled. "I've got loads of _those_. For instance, how come... no... why _me_?"

Dumbledore waved his hand a little and the wine bottle they shared glided over to Ed's side, lifting itself up in the air and refilling his glass. Said man was on the verge of gaping.

"I have read quite a few of your novels, Mr. Elric. _The tales of Truth _carried an interesting message, and _Breaking the Balance_ had a very intriguing storyline."

His electric blue eyes surveyed Edward carefully.

"And the way you describe alchemical reactions is _disturbingly_ accurate."

Understanding dawned in Ed's face, and Albus continued:

"I am almost forced to think it's no coincidence that you know so much about one of the most ancient forms of science in human history. It would be very likely of me to come to the conclusion that you actually can perform..."

"Hey, _stop, _stop right there!" Edward said sharply, gesturing and once again sitting up. "I don't know what kind of thought you are having right now, Sir, but they're incorrect. I can't do alchemy!"

Dumbledore didn't react to his small outburst; he took a sip from his glass and looked at a painting on the wall to the left. Edward felt a small wave or anger towards the man, who didn't seem to have even listened to him.

"Look, Mr... Dumbledore, was it? Yes, I know about alchemy and it's principles, but you know just as well as I that it can't be done..."

He almost bit his tongue as he stopped himself from saying "in this world."

Dumbledore put said glass down and cleared his throat.

"And _you _know just as well as I that chairs don't float in mid-air." He said with a mischievous spark in his eyes. Edward nodded in agreement, but the old man pointed down at his feet.

The blonde's chair was no longer on the floor; it was "standing" three inches over the polished boards. He gave a very unmanly yelp and took a firm hold of the armrests in an attempt to maintain his balance. The corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

"I assure you, you won't fall."

The airborne piece of furniture sank down to the, in Ed's opinion, much safer height of "floor-contact", and as soon as he had regained his composure somewhat, he buried his head in his hands.

"Just understand what I'm saying, Sir. _I can't perform alchemy._ In that case I would just have needed to..."

He clapped his hands and put them against the table. The wood sprung to life immediately and blue sparks emanated from Ed's hands as a perfectly correct representation of the Eiffel tower was formed from it, and everything that was on it.

"Nice." Dumbledore stated as he observed the replica. Edward stared at his hands in wordless awe.

And then he fell out of the chair. The other man looked a little suprised and made a "t-t-t"-sound as he saw that the poor alchemist had passed out of pure shock.

Dumbledore rose from his chair, walked around the ex-table and helped Edward back up, and then he moved across the room and left a letter made of parchment standing on the mantlepiece. After doing that, he turned on the spot and disappeared into nowhere.

The bell hanging over the entrance chimed, the fire was burning out. Ed had started snoring lightly. The letter didn't make a sound, but an adress appeared on the front, as if someone was writing with emerald ink:

_Professor Edward Elric_

_Daeligvejen 12 (The old apartment in the corner)_

_Denmark_

_

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_

**Nithela speaks: Yup. A prologue, as you can see. Wanna give it a try?**


	2. HOLY SHIT

**Nithela speaks****: Oh my, I am SO sorry that I haven't updated, guys! Real life kind of caught up with me and other stories screamed for me to make them. This crossover still hasn't left my mind, though, and now I finally got the energy to continue with it. So here you go. It's short, but it's a life sign, and a promise: "I won't ever wait this long before I update again".**

**Warnings:**** Um... none. Except that this chapter is very short and it doesn't explain anything, really. But we'll get there, okay? The mystery about Ed's sudden capability to do alchemy is a part of the plot (oh yeah, there IS a plot alright) and I can't just give it away in chapter two, eh? That'd be no fun at all!**

**Anyway, enjoy.**

* * *

A small bird sat unnoticed on the windowsill, tilting its head as it peered into the room. It couldn't read the texts on the many papers being scattered across the non-matching tables, nor could it appreciate the intricacy of the tall, wooden sculpture standing in the middle of the room. It _did_ notice, however, the man snoring in the old armchair, and even though it smelled like bread somewhere inside, the bird did not want to take any risks, so it took off to find another food source. The faint flutter its tiny wings made was enough to wake the snoring figure from his sleep. He began to stir with a long, slow inhale through his nose, reaching up his arms and tried stretching his legs – the combined movements made the armchair tilt dangerously backwards and he snapped awake in an instant when the piece of furniture threatened to lose its balance. He curled up into a ball until it tilted back to stand on all four legs, his face contorted in a big yawn as he did this. It wasn't the first time that he had fallen asleep anywhere else than in his bed and this was more or less his morning routine. He rubbed his sore neck and wondered for a moment just why he wasn't in bed _this time_, and then his yellow eyes fell upon the no-longer-table-now-Eiffel tower. His hand came to a stop as he continued to stare at his creation, while the past night's events flashed through his brain.

Oh _shit_.

His alarm clock went off in that moment, making him yelp and try scrambling to his feet – this time he fell for real. The crash as he fell backwards with the chair tumbling over him made the wooden sculpture in front of him tremble and he kept staring at it as if expecting it to do the ballet in front of his very eyes. The replica, however, didn't show any hidden urges to hop around on non-existing toes. That didn't keep him from looking strangely at it for several minutes, though, and he got up slowly, not tearing his gaze from it. His hand fumbled for the wireless phone, which had fallen down from the table as he alchemized it the night before. The comforting weight of the plastic device felt familiar for his stunned brain and he lifted it to his face, adjusting his glasses as he hit the buttons rapidly. He put it to his ear and kept staring at the innocent tower while the signals reached across the world.

The voice on the other end mumbled a tired "hello?" and Ed let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

"Al?"

"Edward?" The other man slurred, his voice raspy from sleep.

"I think I'm losing my mind."

"…do you know what time it is over here?"

"Someone came home to me last night."

"_Good _for you."

Al was somewhat miffed that his brother had called him at one in the morning (local time), and he wasn't exactly in the mood to go through any scientific theories since he was looking after his one year-old grandson, who just had fallen asleep and could wake up at any time, or at any sound. He gestured offhandedly to the woman appearing in the doorway to their bedroom, mouthing an 

"Edward" for her, and she put her hands to her hips and gave the phone he was holding a scowl before turning back.

"Don't let him keep you up." She said, closing the door. Al returned his attention towards his blabbering brother.

"-and my coffee table turned into the freaking Eiffel tower, Al! The _Eiffel _tower! In my living room!" Ed finished, his voice getting higher by each syllable. "I just clapped my hands and _kazoom, _it was there!"

Al rubbed his eyes.

"Are you drunk?" He asked wearily.

"No! No, no, I'm serious here, Al! This strange old man just… just…"

A glass-shattering screech came from the bedroom and Alphonse sighed, grimacing and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Great. Cage has woken up. Call me in seven hours, _not _sooner." He said before hanging up to tend to the very vocal child.

Ed stared at the now silent phone in his hand.

Then he stared at the sculpture.

His lips stretched in a grin and a long-lost light sparkled to life in the yellow irises as the realization came to him. A loud song came soaring from his alarm clock in the bedroom. When the familiar strings of electric guitar hit his ears, he looked down at his own hands, at the former table, and then he let out a triumphant yell that scared some doves from a tree outside his window. He ran towards the door, grabbed his coat and flew out the door, all age forgotten about. The stairs were an easy obstacle and when he saw a figure blocking his way, he flew onto it with a laugh and spun it around several times before putting it down and running out the gates of the building.

"NotsurewhenImcomingbackdontwaitup!" He yelled as he disappeared. The old lady, whose long blonde hair had turned into grey and was gathered into a knot on the top of her head, and with hands that Edward had known as calloused and rough from working with machines - but in this world were small and still soft from sewing clothes – gasped and looked after him with widened, sky blue eyes. Winfried Edmondson was never going to get quite used to that lunatic, and she was sure he would slip on the stairs and break his neck one day. Shaking her head, she turned back down to her own apartment and wondered what she was supposed to do with the bread she just had made and wanted to share - It would probably end up in the freezer. What a shame. Her newly baked bread with sunflower seeds was one of the best things the man knew.

Well, well. As long as he paid his rent and let her fix the holes in those old rags he often wore, she supposed she could stand his eccentric behavior.

* * *

Edward stopped when he reached the busy 20th century street in front of him, which was bustling with the usual morning traffic. He looked at the masses and mechanical wonders, closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down. Okay, okay, where to go? The library, where he had taken refuge so many times to find some kind of comfort in the feeble descriptions of the beautiful and intriguing science that was alchemy? Nah. Spend too much money on meaningless stuff to celebrate? No, he was no teenager anymore and he'd have to depend on the kindness of his landlady for the rest of the month if he wasted too much…

Then it came to him.

Alfred! Of course! He steered his steps towards the reason he had gone to Denmark in the first place. Edward had read texts that the old scientist from Germany had written during a chase for other people who believed in alchemy. Alfred had a vast amount of knowledge when it came to the theoretical parts, and even though there had been holes and gaps in his theories, Edward had been more than happy to fill him in. He didn't think Alfred would come up with anything new or find a way to channel the energy in this world, but it felt so _good_ to finally have someone else than Al to talk to, someone to instruct, someone who didn't wave it off and instantly labeled the science his life had revolved around as "impossible and unworthy of any further studying".

Alfred knew exactly how alchemy worked in theory and he was certain that it _should_ be possible to perform it, but then he had deduced that there was something missing and he was currently researching that exact subject. Edward still hadn't told him about the Gate – talking about mathematics and chemical formulas was one thing, but it wouldn't be that easy to accept the existence of something bigger than the physical world, a divine judge with its own way of measuring things. He had felt safe in Alfred's company but was careful not to expose his _real _musings to the professor, lest he'd be marked as insane and lose his chance to ventilate and find some kind of comfort on this gray, dull dimension.

But today, Ed decided, he was finally going to tell Alfred the whole truth. It would be easier to believe him if he got to see a reaction with his own eyes , something Ed hadn't been able to show him for such a long time even though his fingers _itched_ to clap every time he thought about it. The blonde couldn't help but to feel giddy. Alchemy had been - and still _was -_ a huge part of his life. Al had learned to cope with not being able to perform miracles anymore but Edward had felt completely lost. He never really learned to accept it and get on with his life.

Now, after fifty years of fruitless searching, it felt like he was finally finding his way home


End file.
